strangers, friends, lovers
by V. Sourweather
Summary: Draco doesn't know why he is so attracted to this mysterious girl. He likes to think it's probably because she shares his love for drawing. All he knows is that he can't stop thinking about her. [Dramione Artist!AU; written for Amanda]


_This was written for Amanda (DarylDixon'sgirl1985), for the Ongoing Gift Tag 2019 and the prompts Draco/Hermione Artist!AU. I hope you like this, Amanda! :)_

_Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, and everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I don't make any money out of this story._

_.:._

_Word count (without the A/N): 3,645 words (so, the longest thing I've ever written!)_

* * *

_**strangers, friends, lovers: **_**Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger**

The first time Draco saw her, she was sitting on _his_ bench in Greenwich Park. He frowned down at her, and first, she didn't even bother to raise her head (or maybe she just hadn't seen him). After some time though, she looked up at him and smiled a little, closing the sketchbook she had been drawing in.

"Hi," she smiled a little shyly, and his frown deepened.

"You are sitting on _my_ bench," he scowled (and at that moment, he didn't really care about the fact that his attitude was very childish).

Her smile instantly vanished, and her mouth fell agape.

"I'm sorry?" she asked him, her voice laced with incredulity.

"This is where I sit every day, so could you please move? There is an empty bench just there," he said, pointing to their left.

"You could also sit there, you know?" she retorted. "I'm quite busy," she added, waving her sketchbook at him. "Besides, I won't have the same angle from that bench over there. So I'm sorry, but I just can't really move right now."

He stared at her, huffed and turned on his heels, striding away from her and her stupid drawings (and he didn't think for one second about asking her to show them to him, so he could give her advice).

* * *

He was waiting for the class to end impatiently. He was staring absentmindedly at the teacher, and was actually thinking about that girl with bushy brown hair and a sketchbook covered in drawings. He tried to visualize her technique, and then remembered. She had none, not really. Her drawings were beautiful (now that he wasn't so frustrated, he realized that), but it was like she was reproducing nature, without any of her interpretation. Not really _his_ style.

"Draco," he heard a voice seethe in his ear. He snapped out of his thoughts and glared at Pansy, who was looking at him intently.

"Yes?" he answered stiffly.

"It's the end of the class," she told him. "I thought you'd be happy. We can -"

"We can do nothing," he snapped and gathered his things, snatching up his bag and shouldering it before leaving the auditorium without even sparing a glance for Pansy. He supposed she would be devastated by his attitude… for a time anyway, and then she would just start flirting with him again. She had never known when to give up on a lost cause.

He went back to Greenwich Park that day (and he was secretly hoping he would see the girl again, just so that he could study her drawings a little more closely). He sighed in relief when he saw her, leaning over her sketchbook, sometimes looking up at the flowerbed she was drawing. He crept closer to her, and cleared his throat when he stood a few meters away from her.

She jumped a little and looked up. Instantly, he saw her attitude change. She was now on the defensive, and she raised her eyebrows.

"I wanted to see your drawings," he stated bluntly. "I think I have some advice for you."

"I don't want any advice, thank you very much," she replied, closing her sketchbook and standing up.

She picked up her little bag and just left him hanging there, his mouth slightly agape. She was the first person who ever stood up to him in any way. His friends were all so… submissive, for lack of a better word, and his parents… They answered to his every desire without even questioning him (he was starting to ask himself if they even cared about him at all), and it was starting to get annoying.

He smiled to himself and watched her stalk away, her bushy hair bouncing on her shoulders.

* * *

He lied awake that night, staring at the ceiling. When he couldn't take it anymore, he stood up and came closer to his window. He opened it, sat down on the windowsill and studied the stars. How he loved watching the stars… They shone up there in the sky, so far from his reach, and yet, it felt as if he could reach out for them.

He stood swiftly and grabbed a pencil and his sketchbook, and he drew the stars. It wasn't his favourite thing to draw (he felt like he could never do justice to them), but he made an exception for once. And he had no idea why, but he drew them the way_ she _drew things: realistically, and not from his interpretation.

He studied his drawing once he was done, and a thin smile tugged at his lips. It was actually good, he thought to himself. And then it dawned on him: this was how he would apologize to her.

* * *

The next day, he didn't pay any attention to the teachers and what they were saying, in any of his classes. None of his teachers, however, reproached him (one of the good things about having influential parents).

The second his last class ended, he was out of the room without giving much thought about his friends, who stared after him, their mouth agape.

He found her on the same bench, still studying the same flowerbed, and he smirked to himself… So predictable!

He sat down next to her and gave her his drawing without noticing her glare. She warily took it away from him and looked at it, and her eyes widened.

"You drew this?" she asked. "It's…" She studied it a little longer and then continued, "It's quite beautiful."

He smiled and pointed at their drawings, "You see that?" he asked her then. "It's realistic."

"It's kind of the point for me," she answered, a smirk on her lips. "Isn't it for you? Because this is actually very good, and if you were not even in your element…" She trailed off.

"This is certainly not my element!" he exclaimed, startling her a little. "I hate realistic things! Reality… We have enough of that in our life, there's no need to add to it."

She looked at him, frowning, and when she understood he wasn't going to continue and was rather waiting for her to say something, she uttered, "I get that, but…"

"What do you see?" he asked her, pointing to the bed of flowers.

She stared at the flowers, then back at him, and then back at the flowers when she realized he wasn't joking.

"I see… huh, I see a bed of flowers?" she answered hesitantly, and it sounded more like a question.

"I'll tell you what I can see. Beauty, everywhere. You see those roses? They're beautiful, and that's what I'll try to draw, rather than the flowers."

"That's… good," she half-smiled, and then she said, serious again, "But it's not me."

She stood up and left, and she was as mysterious as ever.

* * *

He tried to forget about her, and he didn't even return to his spot at Greenwich Park for a long time. And yet, one day, he walked across the park and saw her. Of course, she wasn't on the same bench (it had been almost a year since he had last seen her) but on one who was located at the other end of the alley.

But as he looked at her, scribbling forcefully on her sketchbook, the pencil almost cutting through the paper, he felt the need to go and see her.

He let go of Pansy's hand (when had he fallen so low as to finally accept her advances, and let her hold his hand in public?) and walked away from her, towards the young woman. He could feel Pansy's eyes burning into his back, but he didn't stop. Not until he was standing in front of her, barring the mysterious girl's view.

When she looked up, he saw tears in her eyes. And when he looked down at the drawing, he saw that she wasn't tracing the outlines of the trees and the flowers behind him, but those of a heart shattered into a million pieces.

He sat down next to her and she followed his movement with her hollow gaze.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, more gently than he had ever been.

She simply shook her head and continued her drawing. "You wanted abstract things?" she asked him bitterly. "Well, here you have one. I think someone's waiting for you," she added, pointing her pencil towards Pansy, who was now glaring at them, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Goodbye," he whispered and got up.

All the way to his apartment (he had been alone, of course; Pansy had been extremely upset because of him – _good_), he thought about the lonely and broken girl with bushy hair, and realized he didn't even know her name.

* * *

He broke up with Pansy the day after their argument, and went back to the park. The girl without a name was still there, alone, but she was looking up at the sky instead of drawing. Actually, there was no sketchbook laying in her lap at all.

"You're back," she simply said when he stopped a meter away from her. There was no accusation in her voice, and she was half-smiling. "I didn't expect you to come back."

"It sounded like you needed help."

"Maybe I did," she said, offering him a smile. Her eyes were red from unshed tears from the day before, but she did seem better now. "I never asked your name," she asked then.

"I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy. And you are?"

"Hermione. Hermione Granger. You did help me, Draco Malfoy. A little. So thank you."

"Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye?" he asked after a few moments.

"I'm not. I'm not leaving London. I'm just – I'm just trying to get my life together. And that doesn't really involve coming here, or drawing."

"You'll stop drawing then?" He wondered why. What could have made her want to give up something she did so well?

She didn't answer and started wringing her hands in her lap. It was like she already missed holding a pen between her fingers and a sketchbook in her hands, and he knew right then that it would be torture for her to just stop drawing altogether.

"You can't stop drawing," he insisted, and she looked back at him sharply.

"You can't tell me what I can or cannot do," she retorted.

"It's obvious that you're made for being an artist, Granger," he shrugged, and she frowned when she heard her last name. "I don't know you, and even I saw it."

She defied him for a few minutes, her hazel eyes glaring at his icy blue ones. Then she bowed her head and whispered, "I have to give it up. It's either that, or my boyfriend, so… I guess I made my choice."

"Who's your boyfriend then?" he asked, his voice a little tense. He could not comprehend why anyone would force someone to give up something like that. And he didn't understand either why she chose him instead of what she was meant for.

She studied him warily, and then sighed his name. Ron Weasley… He had heard about him. Not necessarily a bad person, but someone with quite a temper, from what some of his friends had told him. He asked himself if he had been violent with her, and his question must have showed on his face, because he heard her crying out, "No, no, Ron's nothing like that! Malfoy, how could you…? No, he's very nice, but – it's just that he has –"

"Quite a temper," he completed. "One of my friends knows him, and he's told me all about him. All he could, anyway. He never mentioned you though."

"Ron would never hurt me… not intentionally anyway," she tried to convince herself, but there was a hesitation in her voice, an undertone full of fear. "But this… This is breaking my heart, Malfoy." She paused, and then murmured, "I don't want to give it up."

"Then run away," he proposed matter-of-factly. "Leave him."

"You don't know what's good for me," she reminded him gently.

He shrugged. She was right, but there was just something about Hermione Granger that infuriated and captivated him at the same time. She was so stubborn and so vulnerable altogether, and it made him want to protect her with everything he had.

"I can make it through," she continued. "I'm strong enough to live without a thing as unimportant as drawing."

"Unimportant," he scoffed, and she glared at him once more.

She fidgeted on the bench, almost like she wanted to get up, and he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down. She gasped a little and wrenched her wrist away from him, but she did stay where she was, away from him on the bench.

"I don't know you, Draco Malfoy," she seethed, massaging her wrist. "You can't tell me how to lead my life, so _don't_!" The fierceness in her voice made him back down, and he stared incredulously at her. He wasn't aware she had such a fire in her.

She looked straight into his blue eyes, and then calmed down a bit. "I can't just go away, Malfoy. I don't have anywhere else to go. My parents don't live here, and I'm sure they'd want to take me back home, but… I can't just leave London. And not leaving London means staying with Ron."

He nodded tensely, before arguing a little, "I have a friend. She's searching for a roommate because she's finally leaving her parent's house. She's nice, and I think you'd like her…"

He was surprised when she burst out laughing, and she laughed until her eyes became watery with tears.

"You do rea – You do realize I don't actually know you? Or your friend?" she hiccupped through the laugh in her voice. "So why do you care so much?"

"Because my parents once wanted me to give up drawing… and I fought them, because I knew this was what I was destined to be. You have to fight Weasley, Granger. You can't let him dictate your life."

She almost seemed to hesitate, but then she stood up and left him there, strolling away from him.

* * *

"Have you made a decision?" was the first thing he asked when he saw her again, a week later.

She nodded and smiled a little, "I think I'll have to meet your friend first. What's her name?"

"Daphne," he answered immediately, fighting against the smile that threatened to appear on his lips. "Daphne Greengrass."

"Draco, Daphne…" She laughed a little. "What's with the names?"

He glared at her to hide the fact that he was amused by her remark. "I don't know," he answered. "You'd have to ask my parents, and I'm not really sure you actually want to meet them."

That caused her to lose her smile, and she asked, "Are they really so terrible?"

"No. But there are times when I think they don't really care about me at all."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," she said honestly. "My parents _do_ love me. As soon as they've heard of my problem with Ron, they have offered to take me back in. But like I said, they don't live anywhere near here, so…" She paused and then changed the subject, "When do we meet Daphne?"

"Now," he answered. "I just have to text her telling her to come here, and she will."

A half an hour later, Daphne entered the park, her long legs bare under her blue dress. He could have found her beautiful (and he did, in a way), but she was cold and distant most of the time… Especially with people she didn't know. She loved the same things as Granger did, however, and he hoped that would help.

"Daphne, this is…" he started.

She cut him off in a calm voice, "You must be Hermione Granger. Draco's told me a lot about you," she added when she saw the other girl's eyebrows raise.

"He did?" Hermione asked weakly.

"Mmm… About your love for drawing, for example," Daphne explained. "That's actually why I've accepted to meet you. If you were not interested in the same things as me, I would have refused. I won't offer a home to every single one of Draco's potential girlfriends."

Granger burst into a fit of coughing and stared at Daphne with wide eyes. "Potential girlfriends?" she repeated hysterically. "We're not – I'm not – There's nothing between us!"

He rolled his eyes but didn't deny that fact. His friend looked at him, frowning, and suddenly, she smirked a little.

"I like you already, Granger," she said and nodded towards the entrance of the park. "We're going home for a visit."

And as quickly as that, she walked away and they had to hurry to follow her.

* * *

Draco studied his new friend's face. She obviously did like this house, and he had to hold back a smirk. Really, her emotions were so visible on her face… and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing.

When his two friends shook hands and Granger quietly stated, "I'll have to go and talk to Ron then," he rolled his eyes.

"Why do you always insist on talking to Weasley, Granger?" he fumed.

"Because he was my boyfriend for a long time, and he's still my friend, and I can't just come and live into this house without giving him an explanation!" she replied exasperatedly.

"'Was'?" he repeated incredulously. "Wait, you broke up with him and you didn't even warn me?"

"Well, I'm sorry, but I don't really see how this concerns you. It's my life, and –"

"Alright!" Daphne intervened quickly. "I'm just going to get out and let you finish this conversation alone. Sorry, but this is… I hate people bickering."

"We're not bickering!" they both cried out in unison.

"No, of course you're not," the blonde girl sniggered, and then she walked out of the apartment.

They both stared after her and then looked at each other, and Granger started to giggle excitedly. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "It's just – This is amazing, and I think I'll be able to feel at home here!"

"That's good, Granger," he said, smiling genuinely.

"You know my name's Hermione, by the way, right?"

"Of course, Granger," he answered, a smirk painted on his lips.

She rolled her eyes and then went and sat down on a couch. She looked right at him and smiled a little.

"So…" she started, and at the same moment, he uttered, "Why…?"

"Go ahead," he told her, nodding briefly and tensely. It wasn't in his habits to let people talk before him.

"Why did you expect me to tell you I'd broken up with Ron?" she asked, a note of uncertainty in her voice.

"I don't know, probably because we're friends and…"

"I only told Harry about this. I didn't even tell Ginny, Ron's sister, so… That's not a good reason."

"It is to me," he retorted immediately, his brows furrowing.

She shrugged, and then motioned for him to ask his question.

Still unable to digest the fact that she had hidden such a thing to him, he asked rather coldly, "Why did you break up with him? Was it just because of the drawing thing?"

She fidgeted in her seat and her cheeks reddened visibly. He frowned and looked at her more closely, and she only became redder. It surprised him, because he would have never thought she was a shy little girl. He sat next to her and finally, she opened her mouth.

"It was because of you," she whispered, her voice laced with anxiety.

"Because of me?" he repeated incredulously.

"Yeah… And don't take it the wrong way," she added hurriedly. "It's just… I think that because you've helped me a lot, I…" She trailed off.

"You…?" he encouraged her to continue.

"Bloody hell," she suddenly muttered after a few seconds of silence.

And she leaned towards him and kissed him. He tensed and his eyes widened briefly, before he closed them and he lifted his hands to tangle his fingers in her bushy hair. He pulled her closer to him and secretly marvelled about the softness of her lips against his.

When she pulled away, he didn't try to stop her but leant closer to her, and he rested his forehead against hers.

"Why have you done this?" he whispered.

"You wanted an answer, Malfoy. You have it now," she answered, and she seemed a little out of breath.

"Alright, Granger," he smirked and let her go. "But now that you've done that, you'll have to bear with me and my drawings and everything."

"You do know that it works the other way around as well, don't you?"

He laughed a little and nodded.

And the first thing they ever did together was a portrait session, in Daphne's apartment, a day after their first kiss. First, Draco drew Hermione, who had a smile painted on her lips (her _beautiful_ lips) the whole time, and then they exchanged places and Draco did a more serious pose. She laughed a little and shook her head, but she drew him nonetheless, and when he looked at his portrait, he couldn't help but marvel about how realistic it looked. She had drawn him splendidly; the beauty of his angular traits was there, but she had also represented his faults.

They certainly didn't know that these drawings would be the most important items they would ever have in their whole lives. They would keep it, secretly tucked in a drawer, and each and every time they would argue, one of them would open the drawer, look at the portraits and remember how happy they had felt, that first day after their kiss. And they would forgive each other, and this… This would be perfection for the rest of their lives.


End file.
